


Home to You

by littleladyyoda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, just a little smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleladyyoda/pseuds/littleladyyoda
Summary: “I don’t care what the hell you do, doll, as long as you come home to me,” he says, blue eyes focused on her face as though she’s the only thing that matters in the whole world.James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	Home to You

She’s gotten rather good at pretending.

The dates are all the same and the faces are all similar in their pleasant way. Sometimes it’s a guy she met online or a someone suggested by a friend. It’s a way to give the appearance of moving forward with her life in the traditional way. She never sees any of them more than once. She passes the basket of breadsticks and makes friendly conversation over wine, but there’s no possibility of her going home with them or offering more than a chaste hug at the end of the night.

By the time the two hours are up, she’s flying out of the restaurant and hopping into an Uber, slipping off her heels and leaning back against the seat that the whole boring, time-sucking ritual is over. By the time she’s climbing the stairs to her apartment, the bounce has returned to her step and her skin is tingling with pleasant anticipation. It doesn’t matter how many times this scene repeats itself -- it never stops making her breath hitch in her throat and butterflies fill her stomach. 

She opens the door and drops her purse on the floor right before she’s pressed up against the wall, stubble rasping against her skin as his lips capture hers in a passionate kiss, fingers gently holding her hips. His lips travel down her neck, nipping at her collarbone as she runs her fingers through his hair, eyes closed with pleasure. She’s long since stopped being surprised at how quickly her body responds to him. 

“I missed you,” he growls, the raspiness of his voice causing a rush of moisture between her thighs. “I thought maybe you’d gone home with –“

She cuts him off, her lips crashing into his. 

“You know I’d never do that, Bucky,” she whispers against his mouth. 

They rarely make it to the bedroom and this time is no different. He gathers her up in his arms, carrying her over to the couch and laying her down.

“I don’t care what the hell you do, doll, as long as you come home to me,” he says, blue eyes focused on her face as though she’s the only thing that matters in the whole world. 

It’s a lie, of course. He cares very much, but he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give him. He tells himself it’s easier this way. He’s never asked anything of her, never made any promises he couldn’t keep. He doesn’t live a life that lends itself easily to commitment or stability. It’s more than he could ask of anyone, least of all her. 

The next weekend they’re back to the old routine, her heading to another high-priced restaurant and him waiting for her, praying that this isn’t the time she meets someone so interesting and successful that she never bothers to come back. 

She has the revelation over chef salad. It isn’t earth shattering or particularly surprising. Just the realization that there’s somewhere else she’d much rather be and someone else she’d much rather be with, expectations of her friends and family be damned. She was never going to marry a doctor or a lawyer. Not when Bucky sets her body on fire and electrifies her heart with longing. 

“Excuse me,” she says, interrupting her date’s lengthy story about the criminally high price of hockey season tickets. “I have to go.”

The man, whose name she has long since forgotten, sputters in surprise as she gathers her purse and drops a fifty on the table to cover her portion of the meal, giving him an apologetic smile and sprinting out of the restaurant. She doesn’t bother with an Uber this time. It’s only four blocks. 

By the time she gets to the front door of the apartment, she’s almost bent over with exertion and makes a vague mental note to work on her stamina. She drops her bag and purse on the sidewalk. They aren’t anything she can’t replace and nothing else matters but him. Unencumbered, she bolts up the stairs, stopping only to discard her shoes on the first floor landing. 

She doesn’t bother to close the door before she crashes into him like a wave on the rocks, fingers tangled in his hair, lips devouring his. 

“I love you, Bucky,” she murmurs against his lips. 

She’s done pretending.


End file.
